


i have never known hunger (like these insects that feast on me)

by snowtagonist



Category: The Blackrock Chronicle - Fandom, The Yogscast
Genre: Character Study, Gen, and some thoughts on her in general, just some thoughts on her relationship with mushrooms, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:46:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27016741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowtagonist/pseuds/snowtagonist
Summary: fungus never leaves.(aka: i read way too much into zoeys Thing with mushrooms)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	i have never known hunger (like these insects that feast on me)

**Author's Note:**

> title is from in a week by hozier

You are standing on a bed of mycelium, and the world is still.

Well. Not still, exactly. Never still. Never quiet. There is always the barest whisper of wind from the treetops, the slightest twitch of a mouse's tail. The grass rustles, the clouds blow- the world creeps on, minute by minute, tick by tick, strand by strand. Your rough and tumble, well-worn leather boots are planted firmly against the ground, and you do not move.

You hear things no one else does- oh, sure, it’s not  _ words,  _ per se, but the chatter is no less incessant for it. Talk of life, of love, of those they touch in ways you could never  _ dream  _ of. Signals that you understand. That you long to understand more. Because for all your smarts that you pray will matter to someone one day, for every message you parse from their conversations, you don’t know what it’s like to  _ connect. _

They talk about so much, and it seems a tragedy that it’s lost on everyone but you.

The trees are high above you- almost too high. Dizzyingly high. Familiar in the strangest of ways, and terrifying in painfully mundane ones. You’ve always preferred to stay on the ground when you can manage it- if you never soar, you never fall.

God. You’re starting to get vertigo from all of this. Besides, you didn’t come here for the trees.

Carefully shifting yourself down to rest on your knees, you feel an electricity in the air. Not literal- never literal, you’ve never been good with fact. Not here, at least. In a lab, it’s different- there are  _ pieces  _ that make a machine- cogs that turn and wires that buzz, a succinct cause and effect that you can point to when something goes wrong and say ‘aha!’, a reason and an explanation. A simplicity so rarely afforded to the living.

You cannot point to the holes in your memory and explain them away. You cannot rationalize the empty feeling that gnaws desperately within your chest like a hungry dog. 

You feel your legs against soil, not yet filled with a thousand quiet voices. It’s ever so slightly damp against the thick fabric of your pants, weary grass trying it’s best to peek through the top layer of dirt. The roots you’re sure lie below must be beautiful. But they do not sing to you.

Glancing down, you can’t help but reach out. You’re always reaching. It tires you- in body and in soul.

You’re so tired.

Put that aside, now. You focus your attention properly- the way you’re meant to, the way… someone always wanted you to, but you never quite managed it. You don’t know who you’re trying to please.

Fuck. You shake your head. Back to the literal it is.

...Hands. You have hands- calloused and steady and hovering above the blanket of milky white fungus woven into the ground like lace. Workers hands lying just above a work of art. It’s beautiful- not rotten, not like some people might think. When something is rotten, is  _ rotting,  _ it is falling apart. Crumbling to nothing. This-  _ this  _ is building something new.

What would it be like, if you didn’t have hands? If you didn’t have a body like you do? If you were tendrils- intricate and interlinked with so many others. A web of consciousness, running deep below the earth in thick strands. Always talking. Never alone.

What you wouldn’t give to never be alone.

Your hands are still hovering, careful, as though touching the field beneath you could break it all to pieces, tear apart the framework that you hold so dear to you. Mushrooms are everywhere. Fungus never leaves. Everything goes away, but there’s always mycelium. Always red and brown. Timeless and interconnected and all seeing, in a way. You envy them nearly as much as you love them.

And… well.

They know you’re here. They always have. You can hear the whispers.

Beneath your skin, the strands reach back, calling to you with a siren song of love and comfort and an understanding you know will always be just out of your reach, sliding through your fingers like sand through an hourglass, no matter how hard you cling.

Your heart aches with it.

And you listen.

**Author's Note:**

> hi! hello! i have perpetual yogscast brainworms
> 
> zoey deserves so much. that is all
> 
> my tumblr is chaotic-solutions!!


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